


more of a dog person

by smallredboy



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Gen, Will Graham Loves Dogs, Will Graham is a Cannibal, Will Graham is the Chesapeake Ripper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 07:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23847079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: Will has always preferred dogs over people.
Relationships: Will Graham & Will Graham's Dogs
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38
Collections: Genprompt Bingo Round 17, Trope Bingo: Round Fourteen





	more of a dog person

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [more of a dog person - больше, чем просто собачник](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24063943) by [Silwery_Wind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silwery_Wind/pseuds/Silwery_Wind)



> **trope bingo:** role reversal  
>  **gen prompt bingo:** animals
> 
> i luv roleswap aus, so here's a little one! i want will to be a total psychopath but still have 848 dogs. i LOVE that concept.
> 
> enjoy!

Will believes that his dogs put another thin layer of trust between him and the rest of the world.

He's the Ripper, he's a killer, but most people wouldn't think of him as a prime suspect— he's actively abnormal, neuroses and hyper-empathy; he doesn't try to camouflage himself as _normal_. He goes and works along the FBI, side by side with them as the bloodhound's psychiatrist, and Jack Crawford trusts him.

Something else that makes people trust him is, well, the fact he has seven dogs.

He's always enjoyed dogs— they're a lot easier than humans. Less rude, less strange, less discourteous. Sure, some of them bark loud and bite him, but they're not _trying_ to be rude. They're just doing what is written in their DNA. So he picks up dogs, especially strays he sees around his cabin in the middle of nowhere.

"Winston! Winston."

Winston barks softly and walks up to his leg, rubbing himself against him as he finishes cooking the dogs' meal. It's sausages, human intestines for them to eat. If he ever has to go and die in his cabin, he knows his dogs will eat him. The thought is comforting; man's best friend, eating him until he is nothing but bones. Perhaps it would've been smarter to get a pig or two (those beasts can eat a man, bones and all, without any care in the world), but he's always loved dogs. Besides, he's trained his to eat human.

"Here you go, boy," he says, feeding him a bit of sausage, which he eats happily. He's not used to it, as he's the newest addition to the pack, but he will get used to it in no time. "Good boy."

He feeds the rest the same way, smiling softly at the way they all eat it without any questioning. To be fair, most people he's served human (which is a short list— he likes to keep to himself) also don't ever question it. He knows a thing or two about masking flavors, about making something taste like something else.

 _Dogs keep a promise a person can't_ , Alana tells him.

Dogs do, indeed, keep promises a person can't. They can't tell everyone about his murders, even if they wanted to (which they don't — he's a good owner, really); they can't complain, they can't betray him. They let themselves be petted, they let themselves be played with, they let themselves love their human without any doubt or without any shame. One of Will's favorite things to do is to play with them, to take out all their energy so they aren't restless.

He can't wait until he pulls the rug beneath Hannibal Lecter's feet. At first he had no interest in him, until he saw him kill Hobbs. The panic in his eyes as he held onto Abigail was incredible, making him giddy with the knowledge that he was just like him, deep down, the shadows in his brain growing larger and larger.

He can't wait until he shows him what he is, until he realizes that the person suit he wears, although badly made, still makes people not think twice about him. His dogs are a part of it, as much as he loves them — they are part of his veil of relative normalcy, of being strange but not a killer.

"Hey boy," he says as Winston gets on his bed and settles on top of him, petting him. "Hey."

He knows he can trust his dogs as he feeds them people; he knows he can trust his dogs as he plays with them. He can't say the same about other people.


End file.
